


Abandoned

by watcherofworlds



Series: Whumptober 2019 [26]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fill, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 19:56:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21214208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watcherofworlds/pseuds/watcherofworlds
Summary: Prompt fill for Whumptober Day 26 "Abandoned"





	Abandoned

A noise from elsewhere in the house jerked Felicity awake. She sat up in bed and listened for a moment, until the noise came again. Curious, Felicity climbed out of bed and padded out of her bedroom, into the living room, where she’d heard the sound coming from. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw there- her father, surrounded by cardboard boxes, an open one sitting in front of him when she walked in.

“Dad?” she asked in a trembling voice. “What are you doing?” Her father ignored her. He pulled his old computer science textbooks, the ones that Felicity had spent hours spread out on the living room floor poring over, off the single bookshelf in the living room, and she flinched at the _ thunk _ of them hitting the bottom of the open box in front of him when he tossed them into it with little apparent care.

“Dad?” she tried again.

“I’m leaving,” her father replied bluntly. He’d never been one to mince words or sugarcoat things, but right now Felicity wished that, just this once, he would.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I have to,” her father replied, and didn’t elaborate. Picking up the box with his textbooks in it from the floor, he walked out of the room, passing by Felicity without so much as a glance in her direction. A moment later, she heard the front door open and shut, and then the faint _ thump _ of a car door doing the same. Then her father returned to the living room, picked up another box, and disappeared again.

For a moment, Felicity let herself wonder how her father had managed to pack up all his stuff without waking her mother. Then she decided that it didn’t matter. All that mattered was stopping him from leaving.

“Dad,” she said in a pleading voice as he reentered the living room, stepping into his path. “You don’t have to leave.”

“Yes, I do,” her father said, shoving past her as if she weighed nothing. As if she were nothing. Felicity’s eyes frantically tracked her father as he picked up another box and disappeared from the living room again. There was only one box left. If she didn’t stop him when he came back for it, he’d be gone for good.

“No, you don’t,” she insisted when he came back for the last box, with all the conviction her little seven year old self could muster. Her father continued to ignore her, heading straight for the last box and picking it up from the floor without a moment’s pause.

“ _ Please _ ,” she begged in a whisper, stepping into his path once more when he approached the living room doorway. “Please don’t go.” Her father paused for a moment, his head tilted downward to study her intently. There was a certain finality in the way he did it, as if he were fixing every detail about her in his memory, knowing that this would be the last time he’d ever seen her. Then he stepped around her and continued on his way out the door.

“Dad!” Felicity cried, chasing after him. She followed him out the front door, and ran down the driveway after his car, her bare feet pounding against the pavement, until he was moving fast enough that there was no chance she’d ever catch him, his taillights disappearing into the night. Felicity fell to her knees at the end of the driveway, crying bitterly, sobs shaking her whole body.

“Dad!” she screamed, even though she knew he couldn’t hear her now. “Come back!”

Her mother found her in the driveway the next morning, curled up in a ball to ward off the night’s chill, tear tracks streaking her face. She brought her inside, got her dressed, and made her some hot cocoa to try and warm her up. They didn’t speak of what had happened the night before. As smart as she was, Felicity was still only seven years old, and she had no idea how to talk about something like that.

It was a week before Felicity stopped waiting for her father to come back. It was a week before she stopped listening for the sound of his car, before she stopped watching the front door, expecting him to walk through it with boxes full of his stuff and an explanation for why he’d had to leave in the first place. In the absence of that hope, all she could think was,  _ What’s wrong with me? What did I do that made him leave? _


End file.
